


Nice and Neat

by doctornemesis



Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Drinking, Established Relationship, Flirting, Hotel Sex, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25476397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctornemesis/pseuds/doctornemesis
Summary: Izo enjoyed his whiskey like he enjoyed his appearance—nice and neat. The burn that trickled down his throat felt heady, good even, but in no way alleviated his mood. He doubted anything could, though Ace tried.The poor dear couldn’t hold his liquor to save his life.
Relationships: Izou & Thatch (One Piece), Izou/Thatch (One Piece)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	Nice and Neat

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what it is about Thatch and Izo, but whenever I decided to write smut for them, it's never below 4,000 words. I don't know what that says about me as a person, but here you go anyway. Also some mentioning's of current Wano affairs (mostly Izo's background, etc), so please proceed with caution if you're not up to date!

Izo enjoyed his whiskey like he enjoyed his appearance—nice and neat. The burn that trickled down his throat felt heady, good even, but in no way alleviated his mood. He doubted anything could, though Ace tried.

The poor dear couldn’t hold his liquor to save his life.

“Where’s the old man at?” Bear, the local barkeep, asked.

The man was handsome, tall with dark hair and even darker eyes. A broad build with colorful tattoos layered over thick muscle. Scarred knuckles that could fix him any drink in the known world. 

Izo sighed, chin propped up on his free hand. Too bad his heart belonged to someone else. Thus the reason he found himself in a seedy bar late at night after docking on Hand Island instead of getting his beauty sleep. 

“He’s off with Marco doin’ important stuff,” Ace said, slurring his words just so. 

“They’re getting some supplies,” Izo added, a wry smirk to either corner of his mouth at Ace’s flustered appearance. 

“Where’s Thatch at this hour?” Bear asked. “He’s normally hanging off your sleeve, isn’t he, ‘Zo?”

Izo snorted, downing his drink in one go before slamming the glass back down onto the countertop. His intent clear, Bear didn’t hesitate to top him off. Izo rolled his eyes, a faint migraine making its presence known at the base of his skull.

“Trouble in paradise, then?”

“ _I'll_ say,” Ace said, finishing off his third brew of the night. Marco would kill him if he allowed Ace to go on much further, but Izo didn’t feel like playing babysitter. If Ace wanted to drink, he might as well. 

Izo would only intervene if Ace found himself in trouble. Intoxicated or not, his aim never wavered from its intended target. Besides, Ace was a big boy.

A big boy with even bigger flames.

“ _What_ paradise?” he asked, all teeth.

The last thing he wanted to discuss was that towering oaf he’d somehow fallen in love with. The man he couldn’t seem to fall out of love with, no matter how much he desired to. His insecurities would make a fool of him yet. 

“You guys have a tiff or somethin’?” Bear inquired, doing his best to play therapist. Izo loathed it. His answers lied in the bottom of his glass, nowhere else.

“A nurse,” Ace provided, though he didn’t expand upon that comment after Izo elbowed him in the ribs none too gently. 

“A nurse? No way is Thatch gonna give you up for one of the old man’s nurses,” Bear said, restocking a pile of napkins that Ace eagerly took to clean up the beer he sloshed with Izo’s help. “He’s been chasing you for over a decade now.” 

“Has it really been that long, Izo?” Ace asked, looking mildly more collected than he had beforehand.

“Even longer than that, kid.” 

“What? Really?!” 

“Izo’s been with Whitebeard for a long time now, longer than Thatch,” Bear said, grinning up at the both of them. “When Thatch came aboard, the first person he took notice of was Izo here.”

“Love at first sight,” Ace singsonged, nursing his fourth beer now that he was blissfully distracted by the conversation at hand.

“ _Hardly_ ,” Izo muttered, downing his third drink of the night, indicating with a tilt of his head for Bear to top him off. 

“Enemies at first sight?” Ace asked, brows furrowed in thought.

“No, more like Thatch was awe-struck and Izo told him to get lost,” Bear said with a low chuckle, “but he never did.”

“Until now,” Izo said, staring down into his empty glass. “Oh, well.”

“You’re not serious are you, Izo?” Bear asked, and Izo couldn’t find it in himself to even glare at the other man. “Oh, Izo. What man could ever possibly give you up?”

Izo rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but to smirk at such blatant flattery. The moment didn’t last long, however. The double doors located at the entrance of the establishment swung open, revealing none other than the first division commander of the Whitebeard Pirates himself.

“Marco!” Ace exclaimed, cheeks flushed with a mixture of alcohol and fondness. 

How sickening, Izo thought with a low snort.

“Ace, it’s late, yoi,” Marco said, ignoring Izo entirely in favor of the other man. “I thought you’d be back at the inn by now.”

“He’s an adult, Marco,” Izo chastised, tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “He doesn’t need a babysitter.”

“No, that’s you, yoi,” Marco argued, placing a protective hand along Ace’s shoulder.

“Excuse me? You’re darling Ace wanted to tag along, _Marco_. This is only his second time on the island, after all, and you were busy.”

“Well, I’m not busy anymore.”

“ _Obviously_.”

“Come on, Marco. Izo’s having a rough night,” Ace said, turning around to get a better look at the man he so adored. 

Izo envied their easy camaraderie. How easy it was for them to look and touch. To love.

“That’s because Izo makes everything ten times harder than it has to be, yoi,” Marco argued, those intense blue eyes of his focusing in on him much to Izo’s dismay. “Thatch is looking for you, by the way.”

“I’m sure he is,” Izo drawled under his breath, arms crossed. “Can’t a man drink alone in peace?”

“Let’s go, Ace,” Marco said, giving Izo a once over, but not pressing any further than that. 

“See ya, Izo,” Ace said, bidding him farewell, clinging to Marco for balance, but Izo knew better. 

The way he clung to Marco spoke of both trust as well as attachment. The way Marco placed a steady palm along Ace’s lower back spoke of protectiveness and understanding. The nerve of those two bothered him immensely, but he could never hope to look down his nose on something as pure as true love.

Love.

What did he know about love? Nothing.

A decades long infatuation was all there was to it. Or so he tried to tell himself. To be completely honest, he wasn’t sure it was at all working, and thus, the whiskey. 

“Well, it’s just you and me,” Bear said, retiring from the back of the bar to take a seat next to his disgruntled patron. “You wanna talk about it?”

“There’s not much to discuss, I’m afraid.”

Bear chuckled at that. “I hardly doubt that where you’re concerned, ‘Zo,” he said.

“I messed up...”

“Oh? How so?”

Bear set the bottle of whiskey he’d opened down onto the counter for Izo, and the pirate gratefully took it. He’d known Bear for as long as Hand Island had been under Whitebeard’s protection. Izo took an instant liking to the other man, which was unusual in and of itself, but Bear held no interest in joining their crew, but he had an important reason for that as well. 

“How’s your mother doing by the way, Bear?” he asked. “I forgot to ask you earlier, my apologies.”

“No worries,” Bear said, pouring a glass for himself as well. “She’s hanging in there, taking it one day at a time.”

“Is the medicine helping to control her pain?”

Bear smiled. “It is,” he said. “The medicine Marco brought has helped her immensely, but I thought this was supposed to be about you.”

“I’m tired of discussing me, to be entirely honest with you,” Izo said, his shoulders slumping forward.

“You can’t keep looking down on yourself, Izo. It’s not a very good look on you,” Bear said, his voice low and rough and utterly sinful. “If you’re getting tired of setting sail, you can always settle down somewhere.”

Izo hummed softly to himself at that. “I’m far too loyal to Pops to do that,” he said, memories of Lord Oden and Lady Toki crossing his mind, bittersweet though they were. “Besides, I could never return to Wano with the way things are at the moment. Kaido and Orochi would see to that.”

“You could always set up residence on a new island.”

“What? Like here?” he asked, disbelief flitted across his face. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not? Everyone loves you here.”

Izo harked a laugh at that. “You’re not everyone, Bear,” he said with a fond smile. “Besides, my men need me, and I could never abandon them.”

“I know, but it’s obvious that you’re unhappy.”

“Like I’ve said before, that’s my fault. I can’t seem to... _appreciate_ what it is I have when I have it.”

“That include Thatch?”

“Yes,” he whispered. 

“You’ve been in love with the man just as long as he’s been in love with you, Izo. You know that, surely?”

“Love _..._ ” The word tasted like ash on the tip of his tongue, he wanted to spit it out. 

“I know it’s hard for you to express yourself, and I understand that, but eventually, Thatch is going to want to hear it said out loud every once in a while.”

Izo hated when the other man was right. He truly did. 

“I know, but when you love something...you’re admitting to yourself as well as others that you have a weakness. I can’t afford to have any weaknesses, Bear.”

“I would do anything for the ones I love, Izo,” Bear said, slinging a hefty arm over Izo’s slender shoulder. “That love gives me _strength_.” 

“Everything I love gets taken away from me...”

“Thatch isn’t goin’ anywhere anytime soon.”

  
  
  


“You know, he’s right, Izo. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Including tonight.”

Izo’s head whipped over and to the side, his attention drawn to the towering figure that stood just inside the doorway. The look on Thatch’s scarred face spoke openly of his immense displeasure, and Bear removed his arm from Izo’s person as a result. A smart choice on his part, Izo mused.

“Good evenin’, Thatch,” Bear greeted, turning to wave hello at the other man. 

“Evening, Bear.”

Izo moved to his feat then, setting a pile of cash down onto the narrow countertop for Bear to sort out as he did. He didn’t want to argue. Not here, at least. 

“Thank you, Bear. As always, your company’s been greatly appreciated,” he said with a sly smile. 

“Izo, you know that’s more beli than you owe a simple man like me.”

“Nonsense,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Tell Rhea I send my regards. Buy her something nice.”

Bear shook his head, exasperated as always, but took the money Izo offered anyway. “Will do,” he said in lieu of goodbye.

  
  
  


The walk back to the inn proved to be a relatively silent affair. Izo could tell that Thatch seethed with a silent, yet brooding kind of anger. He wanted Izo to repent, to beg for forgiveness; for mercy, but things were never that open and shut between them. 

“I didn’t book a room back at the inn,” Izo admitted, a light breeze tousling his hair somewhat no matter how he tried to keep it intact. “I figured I would head back to the Moby tonight.”

“I guess it’s a good thing that I booked one for the both of us considering how far back to port it is from here,” Thatch announced, hands tucked away inside his dress pockets as they drifted along the beaten and weathered path.

“Rather presumptuous of you, don’t you think?

“Well, it’s either the inn or a long walk ahead of you. Your choice.”

”I suppose it beats stumbling drunk all the way back to the Moby all by my lonesome.

“Stumble? You’re far too graceful for something like stumbling, Izo, even if you are heavily intoxicated,” he said. “A dancer, through and through.” 

Izo looked off and to the side then, his face warming under Thatch’s astute gaze. He could read him like an open book, and Izo hated it. 

“I promised myself that I would never dance again, not for anyone...not even for myself.” 

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been back home.”

“There’s nothing left for me back there,” he said, his hands balling into tight fists, “and we both know that.”

“That’s because your home’s here with us,” Thatch said. “With Pops, with your brothers, and with me. You know that. Whether or not you choose to admit it.”

Thatch leaned in a little closer, but Izo picked up his pace. “You reek of perfume,” he said, nose scrunched up. 

“ _Izo..._ ”

“The blonde haired one or the redheaded one you’ve grown so fond of as of late, hmm?” 

Izo tried to calm himself down, to tamper the fast beating of his heart as he stalked forward. The rustling of trees in the moon drenched light drowned out any sound Thatch might have made in his defense. Izo didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to become some solicitous monster. He didn’t want to possess Thatch anymore than he wanted Thatch to possess him. 

Or did he?

He didn’t want to get lost in the pain of the past. Not again. 

The room Thatch selected appeared large enough for the two of them, quaint enough not to offend Izo’s delicate senses with a single bed set in the center with silk sheets that reminded the slender man of home. Izo threw Thatch a look over his shoulder at that, but the other man merely shrugged, unfazed. No words, no excuses. 

Just...them. 

“You know, it hurts that you’d accuse me of trying to woo someone,” Thatch said, shedding his day clothes, piece by piece, “but one of Pop’s nurses? That's low, even for you.”

Izo bit his bottom lip at that, taking a seat on a surprisingly plush mattress. Thatch must have spent a good portion of his stipend on all of this, he mused, crossing one leg over the other. He knew he was in the wrong, but admitting to such a thing proved far more difficult than instigating a fight for him, and they all knew it.

“You don’t want to talk about it right now? Fine. But I expect _something_ once I’m done showering,” he added, grabbing a white fluffy towel before stalking off to take a long awaited shower. “I’m serious, Izo.”

“I know...”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Thatch said, poking his head outside the bathroom door. “I’m the only one who calls you ‘Zo...Got it?”

Izo gave a curt nod at that, resisting the urge not to laugh outright at the absurdity of it all. It would only make matters worse. Bear was no threat, and Thatch knew that. 

With nothing but time on his hands, Izo undid the pins that kept his long hair in its proper place, letting his dark dresses unravel down along a lone shoulder. He used a comb O-Kiku had handcrafted for him so long ago to untangle any knots that might have lingered from the rough voyage on sea—nasty weather and all that. He sighed, thumbing the last piece of home he always carried with him. 

Izo cleaned his face with a wet washcloth all while awaiting Thatch’s eventual return. His eyes were rimmed red with unshed tears, but he couldn’t tell for whom. His heart felt shattered, and he didn’t have the means to mend it back together again by himself. Not this time. 

The molten gold needed in order to seal it back into its proper shape, if a little imperfect... 

The door to the restroom opened with minimal noise in comparison to Izo’s deafening thoughts. The towel—if one could call it that—swung low on Thatch’s narrowed hips, inviting a wandering eye or two to soak in the tantalizing view. The sharp cut of the man’s pelvis rivaled the sword he kept on him at all times. Thatch’s thighs were thick and strong, his legs long, hairy and equally as swift as the rest of him. A strong man, and an even stronger swimmer.

That’s how Izo first took notice of him. Really took notice of him. 

The Grand Line. The Strength of that ocean is said to be the most dangerous place in the world, commonly referred to as the Pirates Graveyard by people from the four Blues because of its deadly reputation. Once upon a time, Izo was ignorant to such a title. The currents and weather were volatile, changing from one moment to the next without any warning once so ever. It was Thatch who saved him when he fell overboard. 

If not for him, Izo would have surely drowned. 

Love.

Is that when Izo first fell in love with him?

Thatch ambled over to a traditional styled dresser with a tri-fold mirror, crafted out of the finest pine Hand Island had to offer. His hair sat well below his shoulders, darker wet than dry. He reached for a fine-tooth comb, ridding of any excess water that might have clung to him. 

Izo took his time in undoing the silver-colored koshihomo, throwing it off and to the side. He could tell that Thatch watched him curiously from the mirror, but said nothing. Izo loosened the left-handed panel of his lavender kimono with silver hydrangea flowers sewn onto either shoulder, revealing a good portion of a slender chest in the process. 

“I am sorry, you know,” he said, the sleeves of his kimono sliding down along his arms, coming to rest at the crook of his elbows. “I shouldn’t have been so petty.”

Thatch turned around to look at him then, broad shoulders reared back. “That went beyond petty, ‘Zo,” he said. 

“I know,” he murmured, stretching out across the queen-sized bed, laying himself bare to those all-knowing eyes. “Whatever shall I do to make it up to you?” 

“You can spread your thighs, for starters,” Thatch ordered, and Izo could do nothing more than shiver, doing as requested of him.

“You’re going to get my kimono filthy,” he complained, pale thighs spread and ready for the taking. “It was very expensive, you know.” 

“Good,” Thatch said, and Izo could feel his heart racing at the sight of him. 

A god among men. 

Thatch dropped down onto his knees then, yanking Izo to the edge of the bed by delicate ankles. Izo gasped out loud then, taken aback by the other man’s sudden aggressiveness. Thatch didn’t give him a moment to catch his breath, his facial hair tickling Izo’s inner thighs as he took the petite man’s cock in hand, lapping at the head of his flushed cock with an eagerness Izo had never witnessed before. 

“ _Thatch_!” he hissed, placing a hand over his mouth to try and contain any noise that might otherwise escape. The inviting warmth of his mouth, the silk of the sheets against his sensitive skin.The desire to come hard and be absolved of all his sins.

It was all too much. 

Thatch swallowed him down whole, engulfing the entirety of Izo’s cock with a finesse only he could master. Izo’s back arched, his fingers threading through damp hair in order to hold onto something, anything. His first instinct was to close his legs shut, but Thatch’s large hands kept his knees spread wide apart, exposing Izo in a way he’d never been before with anyone else. His stomach tensed, an impending orgasm on the horizon if Thatch didn’t put a stop to the madness he was wreaking havoc on Izo’s body. He didn’t want to come, not yet. 

“Please, Thatch!” he pleaded, close to tears. 

Thatch pulled off of him with a loud _pop_! His lips swollen and bruised, but his eyes were intent—focused. Focused solely on _him_. 

“Keep your legs spread wide open for me, ‘Zo,” Thatch said, his voice low and commanding. “Don’t let go until I say so.” 

Izo did as told, his entire body trembling like a leaf in the wind. His heels dug into the mattress the longer he tried to hold on. He could feel his heart in his throat, his eyes watering with equal parts desire and humiliation. 

Thatch dragged his tongue along Izo’s opening, lapping at his entrance with a ravenous hunger unbecoming of someone of his standing. Thatch used two of his fingers to circle around the rim of Izo’s hole, slick with saliva he teased and prodded, but never pushed further in. Izo wanted him to. 

He wanted the burn, the stretch. He wanted the pain and discomfort of those thick fingers pushing into him dry, but Thatch would never. No matter how angry or distraught, he would never allow himself to punish Izo in that way, even when Izo himself wanted it. To be sullied; used. Tainted. 

Dirtied and starving just as he did when he was a child just trying to survive in a cold, cruel world. He wanted to fight, but all Thatch had to offer was love. Why was that so hard for him to accept? 

Thatch’s hand disappeared for a brief moment, giving Izo respite from his inner turmoil long enough to collect himself somewhat. Soon; however, two fingers slicked with oil were thrust deep inside him, and Izo couldn’t contain the cry that fled forth from his lungs. He bit his lip, hard, the urge to take himself in hand great, but forbidden. 

“I love you!” he cried out, startling himself. 

He needed him to know that all of the sudden. He wanted Thatch to know that his love was not unrequited. The opposite, in fact. Izo loved him so much it terrified him. He _longed_ for him so much he couldn’t think clearly without him by his side.

“I know, ‘Zo,” Thatch crooned, nipping along Izo’s inner thighs, scissoring him open all the while. 

Izo tugged the other man up by his hair, content to know what it looked like in its natural state. The same way it looked that day Thatch had hauled him out from under the sea that nearly took his life. The way he looked when Izo put his unfounded distaste aside for the man, and kissed Thatch within an inch of his life. 

He could still taste sea salt on his lips every time they kissed. Like now, with Thatch’s tongue caressing his own, taking and giving in equal measures. Thatch’s fingers were thick and long, but not nearly enough.

“More,” he demanded, delirious with the yearning to be consumed.

Filled with nothing but lust and greed. 

A pirate known for exuberant excesses, but that only scratched the surface of Izo’s persona. Thatch knew the truth. The little boy with dreams of being a famous dancer just like his father, of owning and operating the Hanayanagi School. The little orphan boy who tried to care for an even younger sibling while staring over the Oihagi Bridge that led to the Northern Cemetery. The little boy who was just trying to escape such a _cruel_ fate. 

“I need more.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. Three fingers crooked deep inside him, and Izo swore he could see the cosmos unfolding before his very eyes. Their chests pressed together, slick and hot and wet with well-earned sweat. 

Everything Izo needed.

“For fucks sake, please fuck me,” he begged, finally caving in just the way Thatch wanted him to. “I won’t break.”

“I know you won’t,” Thatch said, taking his cock in hand before lining himself up with Izo’s entrance, teasing him with every slip and slide in between his thighs. “Nothing can break you, ‘Zo.”

_That’s not true_ , he wanted to scream! He could shatter so easily. So messily could he break, but he held firm. 

Their eyes met and locked together as Thatch nudged the head of his cock through the first ring of muscle. A petite frame such as his made for some resistance no matter how frequently they did this, but Izo relished in it. Adored it, really. 

It felt real.

It reminded him that he was, in fact, a real person capable of feeling real things.

He wasn’t just an empty vessel. 

He was a brother. A son. A pirate, and most important of all, a lover.

He loved him and, for some reason, Thatch loved him too. 

Thatch bottomed out, and Izo didn’t hesitate, his hips rising and falling of their own accord. His nails left bloody trails down Thatch’s back, destined to leave his mark, no matter how fleeting they were. Thatch shifted forward, maneuvering Izo’s legs up and over his shoulders, taking him harder, deeper than ever before. He pinned him down, and fucked him with all of his strength. Izo wailed, so enamored and full with Thatch’s cock. 

He couldn’t move, not with Thatch’s full weight pressing down on top of him. He could only take it, take the way that Thatch pounded into him ruthlessly. The way that thick cock speared through him with so much power behind it, forcing his walls to stretch in order to be able to take him all in. Izo was a whimpering mess by the end of it, thick pearls of pre-come rolled down over his shaft, tears staining his face. He must have looked an absolute mess.

A new heat settled in his gut then, ten times stronger than the whiskey coursing through his veins at the thought. A mess. A little mess for Thatch’s cock, that’s what he was. 

“Oh, _gods_ ,” he choked out, unable to take it. The idea of it. The relief his own degradation provided for him. 

It would be up to Thatch to clean him up. Tuck him in and call it a night. 

He was openly sobbing by that point, and Thatch knew he had him then. Izo was strung up and turned out, the head of Thatch’s cock hitting his prostate dead-on until all he felt was a dizzying sort of pleasure, all consuming and encompassing in nature. His thighs began to shake, and he knew he was going to come untouched from his ass alone. 

Just the way Thatch intended.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, finding a new god in every thrust that pushed him closer to the precipice until he finally, _gratefully_ , fell over. 

“There we go, ‘Zo,” Thatch practically cooed, trailing a messy thumb along Izo’s bottom lip, forcing him to taste himself how Thatch tasted him. “So good for me.”

Before Izo could cognitively realize it, he was flipped over and onto his stomach. His face pressed into a pillow of some sort, he couldn’t even tell what color it was, only that it felt cool against his overheated face. His ass up, Thatch’s large hands gripped his cheeks so hard he’d leave fine bruises in the perfect shape of his fingers for Izo to feel later. He could only scramble for some sense of purchase, but the sheets were too fine, his palms too sweaty. He could only gasp as Thatched leaned forward, spit trailing from his crack down to his entrance, and he couldn’t help how his hole twitched at the sensation—the anticipation. 

“You want me to finish on you or in you?” he asked, and Izo could only groan. 

The indignity of it all. The fucking bastard. “You better fucking come inside me,” he spat, beyond saving face. If he had any left to begin with. 

Thatch had the nerve to smirk at him, hauling Izo back onto his cock without a moment's notice. Izo’s screams were muffled only by the pillow in front of his face, his body trembling all over, oversensitive and unable to keep up with Thatch’s brutal pacing. He felt used.

So terribly used.

So terribly, wonderfully used. 

“ _Oh_ , fuck!” he cried, perfect brows pinched with the knowledge that he was about to come again, dry with nothing left from his first orgasm. 

“Such a filthy mouth you have, Izo,” Thatch chastised, striking the back of Izo’s thighs until they were bloody red and stinging. “We should put it to better use later, hmm?” 

His arms could only feebly keep him up, but Thatch held the ultimate control, and Izo knew this. The ins and outs, Thatch knew it all. He felt so tender inside and out that he couldn’t control the choked off sobs or aborted declarations of love and loyalty. 

He was a fool. The ultimate fool, but at least he had the good sense to know it. 

“Thatch, please!” he exclaimed. “I can’t take much more.”

“You’ll take as much as I decide to give you,” he said, a promise masquerading as a threat. 

Izo clenched down around the searing length inside him, his shame palpable, reasonable and utterly delightful. Thatch put his all into his last couple of thrusts, short grunts turning into muffled, almost painful sounding groans. His teeth latched on to one of Izo’s naked shoulders, sinking deep enough to break the skin as Thatch came with a muted growl—filling him up entirely. Thatch collapsed beside him and thankfully not on top of him, he mused, delirious in the afterglow of their lovemaking. If it could even be called that.

The aftermath was always the same. Thatch would clean him up, render him anew. He always took his time in caring for Izo, piecing him back together again. 

Love, he found, was not neat. It was not tidy, and it most certainly did not fit into a box. It was ugly and emotional and it rendered him absolutely useless from time to time. Love was a messy, messy affair. He could not love Thatch and expect things to always be nice and neat. 

It wouldn’t always be pristine like his hair or his clothes or his makeup. 

Thatch could very well one day ruin him. A fact he found hard to accept, but he finally felt ready to swallow if need be. He didn’t want anyone else, and Thatch most definitely hid a more possessive side from the rest of the crew. 

Affable, but territorial in nature. 

The only difference in their stance was that Thatch didn’t mind looking like a fool. He didn’t care what he looked like to others. His focus centered entirely on Izo, and Izo alone. In a fit, he brought Thatch down for a fierce kiss that felt just as desperate as he did inside. Thatch returned it readily, always up for a challenge, his fingers dancing along prominent ribs. 

“I love you,” he murmured, meeting Thatch’s weighted gaze, “and I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”

“I love you, too,” Thatch reassured him, “and I accept that you’re just as big of a mess as I am quite well, thank you.” 

For the first time that night, Izo felt himself laugh and smile. A genuine smile that reflected itself back in Thatch’s eyes. He sighed, allowing himself to feel wholly content. He was adrift, but with Thatch by his side, he would remain afloat. His head would never go under. 

A mess inside and out, all of it, and it was—in its own way—absolutely perfect. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
